Running Wolf

by Jenna Kernan

  Her mouth was on his skin, kissing and licking. He groaned as he directed her mouth to his chest, holding her head against him. She hesitated only an instant before drawing his nipple into her mouth. The tug and draw sent an electric charge of sweet desire bolting through him, increasing his readiness and his need.

  He leaned forward, nuzzling against the soft lobe of her ear as he fondled the swell of her soft breasts. She gave a low moan as he sucked. Her breathing grew labored and her expression strained. Her skin was flushed, her body all sweet surrender. In this, at least, she was willing to yield.

  Raven trembled as she looked up at him, her eyes huge and dark. He could still see the need reflected there. She wanted him. He brushed back her long hair and then threaded his fingers through the richness of her mane, lifting her head, bringing her mouth to his. She exhaled the breath she held in a long sigh as their mouths joined.

  He arched away, holding himself up upon his elbows, and ran one finger along the outer edge of one breast. She shivered and writhed. He made wide circles around her soft flesh, stroking, until her back left the ground in her eagerness to feel his touch. She captured one hand and pressed it firmly to her breast.

  He watched her as he stroked the soft flesh on her inner thighs. She splayed her legs for him again. He looked down at her, open, wet and waiting, and his need surged like a horse galloping over open ground.

  Raven reached up and gripped his shoulders, her fingers turning to claws as she scored his flesh all the way down his exposed back. The sensation sent chills down his spine and heightened his desire. He pushed one leg between hers and she spread her thighs farther apart. He reached between them to stroke the warm, damp curls.

  She lifted her hips and tossed her head. He rolled between her legs, moving his hand from her aroused flesh to his, positioning himself to take her, feeling his own fingers slide over his erection as he lifted his hips, readying his shaft like that of an arrow. Poised and ready to shoot forward deep into her needy flesh.

  Running Wolf did not dart forward, but lowered himself inside her with slow deliberation, a warrior claiming what he had won. His intrusion stretched her tender flesh so she seemed to be clasping him with her body. Each movement tested his will, for it was so difficult not to greedily take what she offered.

  But a prize such as Raven’s innocence was more valuable to him than any coup he had ever won, for this was not something he took, but something she gave.

  The barrier pressed against his needy flesh and he did not pause, just continued on with slow determination. He watched her face as her body yielded to this intrusion. Her brow knit for a moment and then she released her breath in a long sigh. She lifted her gaze to his and smiled as he settled as far inside her body as nature allowed.

  And still it was not near enough.

  They shared a moment of calm as he waited for her to give him some signal or sign that his claiming had not been too painful.

  “Raven?” he whispered. “Are you... Did I hurt you?”

  “No,” she said.

  He should have known that his warrior woman would not cringe now. Her courage impressed all, and in this moment she was no different—brave and eager.

  He drew back and then moved forward just a bit. She groaned.

  “Pain?” he asked.

  “Pleasure.” She stroked his face. “Don’t stop, Running Wolf, do not ever stop.”

  Her heels dug into his flanks and suddenly he was the stallion she rode at breakneck speeds. He drove and she lifted to meet his stroke, her body squeezing his, causing the most maddening, wonderful, exquisite vibrations he had ever known.

  * * *

  Running Wolf’s fingers danced over the wetness, his touch bringing a sharp, sweet stab of sensation between her legs. She felt the building tension that told her she climbed toward that magnificent shattering bliss.

  Raven lifted her hips, bringing him tight against her. He rocked, in fluid grace. His glide and thrust drove her mad, and she tossed her head as her fingernails raked his skin.

  The tension burst inside her, rolling outward like a thundercloud, sending vibrations of pleasure out from her center. She rode the thrumming pulse of gratification till the last sweet quaking dissolved into exhaustion. Her body trembled from fatigue, but now he bucked forward with a stifled cry of release. She felt the part of him that was inside her contracting again and again. She lifted her weary arms and held him tight as he fell half on top of her.

  His breath came in hot blasts, sweet against her neck.

  He rolled away so that he stretched beside her. The cool, dry air chilled the beads of moisture from her skin as they lay still. When she shivered, he drew her close and pulled the buffalo robe over them.

  She had given her virtue to this man, willingly as he wished. She did not regret that, but her mind now jabbered at her like a blue jay in the woods. The other captives, they expected her to lead them, and she had agreed to go. But how could she leave this man? The very thought gave her physical pain.

  “What will happen now?” she asked, more to herself than to him.

  “What do you mean?” he asked. “All will be as before. I will protect you as I have said.”

  “Protect me?” she echoed.

  The chill she felt now rose from within. Understanding came at last. Her feelings for him could not change what was, and like a sparrow in a tornado she tumbled where the wind blew her with no power to stop the storm.

  Running Wolf tried to tuck her closer, but she stiffened in his arms. He lifted up on one elbow to look down at her and realized they were only ten paces behind the chief’s lodge. Had he lost all reason? What if Iron Bear came out to relieve himself and found him here with this woman?

  His brow knit as unease trickled through him. Had her words of last night, her reluctance, her proclamation that she could not be his woman because she was Crow and the daughter of a chief, had all that just been some trick, some bait?

  Big Thunder’s words came to him. His friend had mentioned their bear hunt and reminded him that there was more than one kind of trap.

  Running Wolf rolled away. Was she so calculating? It was hard to think so when she had been panting and purring beneath him. But she was a woman.

  “What did you think? That I would bring you home to your father?”

  Her silence was answer enough. When he turned to her it was to see her forearm thrown over her eyes as if she could not even bear to look at him.

  “Big Thunder was right. But you will not trap this bear.”

  “I do not understand you,” she said, and then lowered her arm so she could look at him. Her features were shadowed like the dark side of the moon.

  “If I marry her, I can be with you.”

  “And what of me?”

  “You will be safe in our household.”

  Snow Raven struggled to breathe past the shame and sorrow that rose up like floodwater. This was his solution. He would keep her safe by keeping her captive. This was not love, but just another kind of possession.

  She would not live under the rule of the Sioux, even the Sioux who had stolen her heart. He would not bring her home. She must do it alone.

  As her breathing slowed and she again became aware of the world beyond him, Raven glanced to the sky. The wind blew a sudden gust of cold air. They both stared at the clouds sweeping across the skies, blocking out the stars.

  Running Wolf spoke. “A storm is coming.”

  “Yes.” There was. And she did not know if she would survive it.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The tribe departed the next day in a cold rain, following the wide trail of the buffalo. By midday the scouts returned with news; the herd was just ahead and they would make camp here.

  Raven helped set up the chief’s lodge, and when it was up Spotted Fa
wn sent her to the stream for water. The rain clouds that had followed them all day now swept on without them. In their wake came wisps of steam rising from the warm, wet earth.

  The mud tugged at Raven’s moccasins, making her footsteps heavy. She glanced to the sky, following the flight of a hawk as it soared on the wind. Soon she must also take wing and be away. For the longer she stayed, the harder it would be to leave Running Wolf behind.

  Raven found Snake first, trying to help Wren raise the lodge of the old widow. Raven lent a hand and soon the poles were up and the skin stretched tight. Snake set the last spike through the hide, holding it tight over the lodge poles, and Raven released her grip on the tanned buffalo hide.

  “Thank you, sister,” said Snake, wiping the sweat from her face.

  Raven waved off the thanks. Little Deer arrived carrying a cradle board. Raven stared in astonishment and Little Deer laughed.

  “He is not mine, sister. This one belongs to Snake.”

  Raven glanced at the infant. She felt slightly ill as the reality of the task ahead of her landed cold and hard in her belly.

  The old widow, Pretty Cloud, carried a bundle of goods past them.

  Wren waved a hand. “You can say what you like before her. She is deaf as a chunk of wood. They ought to call her Stooped Woman or No Teeth Woman. I have to pound her food before she can eat it.”

  Raven turned back to the problem at hand—Snake’s child.

  But Snake beat her to the question. “Should I leave him behind?”

  “If you bring him, he will be the boy born of the Sioux,” said Wren.

  Snake rounded on her. “Do you not think I know this? Our people will hate him, these people will hate him. But at least there he will not be a captive.”

  “He will never be accepted,” said Wren.

  “What would you have me do, drown him in the river?”

  Wren did not reply, but her lips pressed tight. Was Wren’s sour face because she thought that this infant would slow them or because she so hated the Sioux?

  Raven stepped between them. “What is the child’s name?”

  “I call him Stork.”

  She looked down at the small, round face of the sleeping boy. He was innocent in all this.

  “A baby is born of his mother’s tribe. That means that he is Crow and one of us. He will be no more to carry than a blanket or a buffalo robe.”

  Snake’s strained face flushed red and tears welled as she stroked the face of her child. “Yes. He is Crow.”

  Wren lifted her hands in defeat. “Fine. But what of Mouse?”

  Raven frowned in confusion. “What about her?”

  “She is ill with her break with the moon.” Snake motioned to the small lodge set some thirty paces away.

  That was not too serious, thought Raven. The once-a-moon cycle of bleeding was natural, and required Mouse to remain in a separate lodge until her time ended. This was to protect the men and keep a woman from draining the power of his medicine from his person and weapons, while she drained of blood. But women had nothing to fear from a woman at this time.

  “We can go to her,” suggested Raven.

  “Let her rest,” said Snake.

  “But...”

  Frog stopped her words. “It is more than a break with the moon. I asked Turtle Rattler to see her.”

  Raven could not stop her jaw from dropping at this news. A medicine man did not treat one such as Mouse.

  Frog nodded. “Yes, he saw her, because I asked it. He says her insides are bad and she cannot have children. He thinks she takes something to keep from getting with child. Perhaps that is what makes her sick. Mouse told him that she would rather die than have a Sioux baby.”

  Little Deer’s eyes bulged. “Can a woman do such a thing?”

  “Prevent a birth? Yes,” said Wren, and then glanced to Snake’s infant. “It doesn’t always work.”

  Raven returned to the subject of Mouse. “Is it so bad?” asked Raven. It was rude to interrupt this way but she had to know.

  “No one can bleed like that for long,” said Wren.

  Snake nodded. “It is very heavy and it stops for only a few days each moon now. The men will not take her, which suits her fine.” Snake scowled and Raven recognized that with Mouse unavailable, Snake must be very busy indeed.

  “You are lucky, Raven,” said Wren. “If not for Running Wolf, you would be a common woman already.” Wren looked to Little Deer and wrinkles etched her brow. “They’ll wait for Little Deer to break her link with the moon so she can take Mouse’s place.”

  Little Deer was only fourteen winters, according to Mouse, but would take her place with the common women. Raven needed to get them out of this camp before Mouse grew any sicker, before the baby got any older, before Little Deer was taken to the lodge of common women.

  “No,” said Raven. “We are all going. The scouts have found the herd. There will be a hunt and then a feast. We go on the night of the feast.”

  “Mouse is very weak. Maybe too weak to travel,” said Frog. “Perhaps I should stay with her. I could take Stork, as well.”

  Snake looked at the older woman as if she had suddenly lost her reason. Her grip on the cradle board tightened.

  “Should we leave Mouse behind?” asked Wren.

  “No one is leaving me behind.”

  They turned to see Mouse step clear of the newly set lodge of Pretty Cloud.

  “I will go when you go, and I will make it home or die.” She looked at Snake and then to Snake’s swaddled infant.

  No one argued with this particular mouse.

  Raven looked from one to the next. “We will see our mountains soon and join our tribes for the winter camp.” Raven saw Mouse’s head bow and she knew she thought of her husband and son. She squeezed Mouse’s arm and their gazes met. “You will come to live with me in my grandmother’s lodge, in the lodge of the chief of the Low River people.”

  Mouse cast her a rare smile and took her hand. “I hope I can repay this kindness.”

  Raven gave her hand a squeeze and released her. “It is no kindness to welcome one so brave to our home.” She turned to the group, feeling protective and frightened and hopeful all at once. “The night of the feast. Be ready. Meet at this lodge when the men begin the buffalo-hunting dance.”

  * * *

  The morning of the hunt, Running Wolf led the familiar formation. First came the soldiers, riding twenty across. This was his place. He had earned it with many successful battles and hunts. Big Thunder rode to his left and Crazy Rider on his right. Behind them were the hunters six deep riding five abreast. Behind the hunters came the people, ready to strip the carcasses of the fallen buffalo.

  Running Wolf rode upon his buffalo horse to the top of the ridge, pausing for a moment to savor the anticipation of the hunt. There was nothing so thrilling as to ride at a full gallop into a herd of buffalo.

  Unless, he thought, it was sharing a buffalo robe with Snow Raven.

  He glanced back to the new camp the women had set. Already they stood behind the last of the hunters, skinning knives ready to harvest what their men could catch. Was she there with them?

  Any moment they would sweep down the incline and the herd would run. His blood rushed in anticipation, for he loved the challenge and the danger of hunting these most mighty creatures.

  He checked the leads that ran from the back of his saddle to trail behind him on the ground. If he lost his seat, he knew that he must catch the safety rope. Just a tug would bring his well-trained buffalo horse to an abrupt halt, even amid stampeding buffalo. Such training had saved his life once when a stumbling horse had sent him from his saddle.

  This fall hunt would provide fresh meat for the entire tribe and, if their arrows were sure, enough meat to dry in preparation for the co
ming cold. He needed enough to provide for his mother and offer some to Spotted Fawn. He did not worry too much over Snow Raven’s survival over the winter, for the chief would always be provided for.

  Crazy Rider drew him from his musings of Raven. “This is my first hunt without Iron Bear.”

  Running Wolf nodded. It was a visible reminder that their chief could no longer provide for his own family, no longer ride. But he had two sons and the husband of his oldest daughter to provide meat for his family. Still, it caused more talk of who would take his place and when.

  “If Running Wolf keeps collecting coups, he will be an easy choice,” said Crazy Rider.

  Big Thunder rubbed his nose and looked away.

  “Do you not agree?” said Crazy Rider.

  “I do agree. But there are those who think our war chief spends too much time in the company of the enemy. Red Hawk now tells all who would listen that you are as crazed as a bull elk and that this woman bewitches you.”

  “She is not a witch,” said Running Wolf.

  “But she is Crow. It is enough to ruin your chances.”

  Running Wolf did not offer a reply.

  Big Thunder lowered his voice and leaned toward Running Wolf. “You are a leader, or that is what you told me you wished to be. A true leader leads by example.”

  Running Wolf glared.

  “Are you really going to risk it all for this woman?”

  Running Wolf pressed his heels to his horse’s sides and rode to the top of the ridge, waiting as the soldiers followed, forming a long line.

  The buffalo stretched out before them, covering the hill and valley. He waited for the call to charge and then realized the chief was not here to shout. He glanced about to see who would make the call and found the soldiers all looking to him.

  Lead by example, he thought, and lifted his voice.

  “Heka hey!” he shouted, and they all cried out in unison as they charged together toward the herd.